


Peaches On the Surface

by bicboy



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: F/M, Sweet Sex, as other than fucking weird, how does one tag a hannibal fic, i guess, slight Bickering, thoughts of cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 02:03:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11453682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bicboy/pseuds/bicboy
Summary: Clarice asks Hannibal not to eat her, but of course he never would.





	Peaches On the Surface

**Author's Note:**

> I...don't know what this is. It's been in my head for days, I just needed to get it out of there. 
> 
> ..Is this fandom even alive any more? Did someone EAT the fandom all up? ;0 *badum tss*

If not for his stiff cock against her thigh, Agent Starling would think Hannibal Lecter wasn't interested in her. His face held no twisted expression, one of pleasure or naught, and his maroon eyes remained tracked on her, hooded and flecked with embers. He touches her face, her throat, her breasts and she falls apart under him, for him, arches into fingertips trailing her ribs, naval, brushing her inner thigh. She rolls her naked hips against his trousered lap, a hitch of a breath catching in her throat as her sensitive, swollen snatch meets the resistance of fabric. He blinks slowly at her, like a cat assuring its master, though she knows that between the two of them she would be the cat to his master. Accordingly, she nestles her jaw against his palm as he caresses her face, kisses her. She flinches as his teeth drag over her bottom lip, shoulders stiffening as she thinks of how he could tear off the lip he's kissing so tenderly without a moment's hesitation, how many lips he has already bit into.

He notices and for a second she thinks it may agitate him and her core racks with a cold anxiety, but he trills with amusement, not quite a chuckle nor a hearty laugh but simply a verbal acknowledgment of the irony of the situation. He smooths her hair back, trails his hands over her neck.

"Oh, Agent Starling," he breaths hot over her throat, cheek. Her skin bristles, the hairs on the back of her neck and along her arms standing on end. "I wouldn't dare ripping into your pretty flesh." He pauses, a beat he misses as she distracts him with a whimper against the pseudo-compliment. A perverse smile spreads easily over his lips. "Not yet, anyhow."

"Not ever," she says, low and defiant but never, ever challenging. She knows he cannot back down from one; it's not in his nature. For good measure, she tacks on a ragged, "Yeah?"

He contemplates, humming as he licks her throat. Though she initially tenses, she tries hard to will her body to relax against him, some unquenchable thirst to please him—always impress him—driving her to trust him with her vulnerability. "Yeah," he decides finally, dragging an almost too-hard bite over her jugular, sending a shock wave through her chest that starts in her jaw, but there is no pain that pinches at her. Relief washes over her, flushing past her lips on an exhale. Her chest, breasts, quake with her new intake of breath and he cannot help but put his mouth on her once again, search her skin with his lips, taste her. Though he wants to, he does not sink his teeth into her.

He notes lamely that she tastes of peaches, and not in a poetic femininity sort of way. At least, the surface of her does. He suspects that her flesh, once cooked, would be tender if not best served red, with the gristle and fat still attached and blood to dip it in. He didn't know why or how he knew this, or why he had yet to test it.

Starling's slender fingers against the back of his head and neck pulling him closer, nails scraping lightly at his own skin as he licks and tastes hers, breath shallow and laced with tangible moaning as he moves ever so slightly against her reminds him why he has not.  He indulges his hunger upon her, but does not feast unto her.  He thinks, at this rate, with his lips on hers and her miserably desperate moans in his mouth, he won't ever be able to bring himself to bring harm to this Clarice Starling, but instead to those who do the harming to her.  It's been ages since he's felt this way towards someone, anyone, and not even sweet Will Graham held a candle to his peach-perfect Clarice.  


End file.
